


you bend, i bend

by friday



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Background Mark/Jaebum, Blow Jobs, M/M, Misunderstandings, the rest of the kids are there too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friday/pseuds/friday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Park Jinyoung, senior." How'd Jackson miss this guy for three years?</p>
            </blockquote>





	you bend, i bend

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [you bend, i bend (Chinese translation)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6608230) by [Tobejoker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobejoker/pseuds/Tobejoker)



> Written for [jinsonology](http://jinsonology.livejournal.com) originally. If you read that one first, the following is a (very very slightly) cleaned up version.
> 
> Many thanks to [shrdmdnssftw](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shrdmdnssftw/pseuds/shrdmdnssftw) for the clutch beta!

The moral of the story here was to never choose next year’s classes during midterms week, when he was sleep-deprived, shaking and cross-eyed from all the caffeine he’d consumed, and so deep in the throes of his international political economy seminar paper he was considering a major change, or at the very least a name change and a move out of the country. Too bad there wouldn’t be a next time. This was Jackson’s senior year, and he was spending it dragging himself out of bed every Friday morning so he could go to a 9:00AM intro-level workshop on conflict resolution.

He’d almost had a heart attack when he got his schedule, sure that the blue two-hour block from 9:00 to 11:00 was a mistake. It had to be. He’d spent three years perfecting his approach to the system, and there was no way he was going to give up his ideal schedule — classes from 11:00AM to 2:00PM on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, fencing practice everyday from 4:00PM to 7:00PM, leaving him what was essentially a four day weekend — for some stupid two-credit class on something that wasn’t even a real academic subject.

“Too bad,” Heewon in the academic advising department said, despite this careful and well-argued presentation of his case. “You have to take it.”

“What?” Jackson asked, shocked. “Why? How?”

“Who? When?” Heewon mimicked, which made Jackson clutch at his chest in faux-pain. Heewon was his favorite person in the entirety of Building A, home to everything administrative-related. She’d balanced him into an overenrolled class more than once, and Jackson owed the expediency of his entire major, which he changed from sports psychology to international relations in the middle of his sophomore year, to her susceptibility to his puppy-dog eyes. Or to her generosity and advocacy of students’ educational passions, whatever. “You need the hours if you still want to be considered a full-time student and graduate on time, Jackson. And it counts toward your major. It’ll make up for the C you got in Geography.” And here, she laughed, a little meanly. “How did you manage to get a C in _Geography_?”

“I was emotionally compromised that semester,” Jackson said. “And thus, regrettably, was not able to dedicate my full attention to that class.” Jackson had spent most of that year falling for and sneaking around with Seo Kangjun, a theater department adjunct who moved to Australia at the end of the year to do stuntwork for and take a bit part in a very popular action franchise Jackson still couldn’t think about without feeling a twinge in his chest.

He got on his knees, grabbing the edge of Heewon’s desk. “C’mon, Heewon-noona,” he said, well aware that he was whining. “I’ll make up the credits next semester. 9:00AM. On a _Friday_. That’s just mean.”

Heewon shot him the flattest, driest look Jackson had ever been on the receiving end of. “I am here every day from eight to five,” she pointed out. “As are most of my colleagues, some of whom are only a year or two older than you.”

Jackson waved a hand. “Yeah, but, like, this is a real job. _I’m_ a senior in college, and I have big plans for my Friday mornings. Plans that don’t involve waking up at 9:00AM.”

Heewon snorted at that, holding up the add/drop sheet Jackson had filled out. Under _Reason for Dropping (ex: Conflict with independent research, work-study, another class, etc.)_ , he’d written, and then underlined five times, **HELL NO**. Perhaps Jackson could have had a bit more respect for the process. Still, that did not warrant Heewon’s reaction, which was to pinch two sides of the paper between her forefingers, and then rip it down the middle.

“No,” she said, looking him in the eye. “Take the class, Jackson.”

 

**WEEK 1: INTRODUCTIONS AND COURSE OVERVIEW**

Jackson’s chin slipped off his hand for the third time since he’d walked into the room that day, which wasn’t a good sign because he’d walked into the room just twenty minutes ago, seven minutes late after it turned out Peaceful Conflict Resolution & Mediation was all the way on the other side of campus, in the cluster of buildings for the media and communications departments Jackson had never been to in his entire academic career. Two seats up, some kid — holy shit he was huge, maybe Jackson wouldn’t be the only senior in this class after all — was rambling on about Chris Brown. Wait, what? Jackson thought they were doing introductions. Maybe they were supposed to give examples of people who were bad at peaceful conflict resolution? A quick glance at the professor, Professor Park Jinyoung, did nothing to help Jackson better understand. His face seemed to be stuck in a permanent smile, and he hadn’t yet stopped bobbing his head.

The kid finally stopped talking, voice wound up to a pitch so high it made Jackson wonder if people needed to be part dog to understand him. “And your name and year…?” Professor Park prompted after it seemed that the kid wouldn’t be continuing, still nodding encouragingly.

“Oh. Sorry. Kim Yugyeom,” Kim Yugyeom said, flushing. “First year.”

The other first years in the room clapped dutifully, one of the braver ones letting out a thin _woo_. From what Jackson could tell, of the thirty-something students in the class, two-thirds were freshmen, a handful were sophomores, and about three were upperclassmen, himself included.

They’d gone through the syllabus earlier, and Jackson had squinted at _Tardiness will not be tolerated_ so hard he almost went cross-eyed. And then he decided he’d worry about it later, and settled his cheek in the groove of his hand and let his eyes drift shut while Professor Park started on the other side of the room for introductions.

Thank God for Kim Yugyeom’s dog whistle introduction, because at least it meant Jackson was awake and less likely to embarrass himself when it was his turn for introductions. The kid in front of him — from Thailand, which was cool, maybe Jackson could recruit him for the international students union later — said something long and quick where his name should be, before adding, “but please just call me Bambam,” when even the metronome bob of Professor Park’s head faltered as he flicked his eyes down to his class roster. Another freshman, of course. No soliloquies about morally reprehensible pop stars, at least. And then it was Jackson’s turn.

“Yo!” Jackson said. He was kneeling on his chair because he’d ended up having second thoughts about standing. In front of him, Bambam had turned around, and was looking up at him with wide eyes. “I'm Jackson Wang. Fourth year, from Hong Kong. International Relations major. I’m throwing a party at my apartment tomorrow night, and you’re all welcome. Look me up in the campus directory.” And then he threw up the universal sign for ‘victory’, except he did it with both hands and with his pointer fingers touching so that it created a ‘W’ — for ‘win’ and, most importantly, for ‘WANG’.

Whoever was sitting behind him snorted, just as Professor Park said, “Hm. Thank you, Jackson. That’s very kind of you to offer. Next?”

Jackson sat down, and then whipped his head around to eyeball whoever had the audacity to laugh at him. The person in question was grinning and trying to hide his mirth behind a hand, laugh lines in full display. With Jackson’s attention now on him, the laugh lines unfolded, the hand came down, and Jackson couldn’t help that his eyes skipped down the bridge of his nose to the lushness of his upper lip and the white of his alarmingly even teeth. Damn. Okay, he was forgiven for being totally Jackson’s type. Jackson eyed the solid outline of his chest underneath his soft gray shirt and really hoped the guy he was blatantly checking out wasn’t a freshman.

“Park Jinyoung. Senior, from Jinhae,” he said, and Jackson swung his eyes right back up to meet Park Jinyoung’s. Senior? How'd he miss this guy for three years? “I’m in the comm school, but double majoring in literature. Nice to meet you all.”

“You have the same name as our professor?” Jackson asked, leaning over the back of his chair. His elbow nudged the well-worn spine of a copy of _Catcher in the Rye_. “Wow. Brown noser, much?”

Park Jinyoung, 23, rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “My mom gave me my name when I was born because she knew that I would be taking a two-credit freshmen class on conflict resolution in university from Professor Park Jinyoung.”

“ — lucky to have two seniors in the class,” Park Jinyoung, 44, was saying. “I’ll be counting on you to set a good example for our freshmen!” He was looking directly at the two of them when Jackson turned back around. It sounded like an accusation.

“Ha,” Jackson said, giving Professor Park his most winning grin. “Sure.”

From behind him, Jinyoung snorted again.

 

**WEEK 2: POSITIONS, INTERESTS, AND GOALS OF CONFLICT RESOLUTION**

The second week of Conflict Resolution, Jackson was eleven minutes late to class.

“I’m sorry!” he said, when Professor Park looked at him askance, mouth still smiling but tight around the corners. The full effect was terrifying. “I had a hot water issue this morning.” And by hot water issue, Jackson meant he may have fallen asleep under the spray, and woke up only when Mark’s grouchy boyfriend Jaebum yanked the shower door open, stuck his hand under the spray, _almost touching Jackson’s naked body_ , which was kind of like cheating, right? Jackson was totally going to tell Mark, and turned the water to ball-shrinking cold.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jackson shrieked, arms rough with sudden goosebumps.

“What the fuck is wrong with _you_?” Jaebum asked. He was peeing, which was weird and gross and a total invasion of Jackson’s right not to have to look at his roommate’s boyfriend’s dick more than what was necessary — which was invaded a lot, unfortunately, if your roommate was Mark who often forgot to lock doors against a roommate who was fond of opening them without knocking. “You’ve been in the shower for like twenty minutes. It doesn’t take you that long to jack off.”

“Shit,” Jackson said, scrambling for his towel. He’d only allotted himself ten minutes for a shower, which meant he’d have to forego breakfast if he wanted to make it to Conflict Resolution at a respectable time. “I’ll have to talk to Mark about your cheating later.”

“ _What_ —”

“Hey! Watch where you’re aiming that thing! Gotta run, talk later!” He pulled on a shirt that smelled mostly clean, and just barely dodged Jaebum’s noogie.

“A hot water issue,” Jackson repeated, when Professor Park continued to look at him. “Something with the plumbing.”

Professor Park just sighed, and turned back to whatever he was saying, leaving Jackson to trip down the rows of freshmen, all looking at him wide-eyed, but with, perhaps, or so Jackson would like to think, some awe, too. The only seat available was the one behind Jinyoung, who had his head bent studiously over his notebook, his notes in neat lines of characters, leaning slightly downwards. But he looked up as Jackson came down the aisle, and Jackson saw that he was laughing at him again, about as far away from ‘awed’ as one could get. Jackson almost tripped on an errant backpack strap — Jinyoung’s, of course — and Jinyoung let out an audible _ha!_ of laughter. So rude.

“Hey, how come you didn’t come to my party last weekend?” Jackson muttered as he passed by, taking his time sitting down so he could watch the shiver go down Jinyoung’s spine when his breath hit the back of his neck.

“Is that why you were late?” Jinyoung replied, eyebrows raised. “Thinking about me?” Then he shrugs. “I had other plans, didn’t think you were serious. I’ll come next time.” He tilted his head so that Jackson could see the smile blooming over his face, hand still flying over the page as he diligently took notes on Professor Park’s boring lecture. Against his better wishes, Jackson was impressed. More so once he looked in his backpack and realized he’d forgotten to bring his notebook.

“Jinyoung,” Jackson began sweetly, reaching out to tap the back of his pen on the top knob of Jinyoung’s spine, peeking out over the collar of his soft sweater. Jinyoung’s shoulders tensed in surprise, before relaxing.

“Yes, dear?” Jinyoung drawled, leaning back in his seat.

Color Jackson tickled. He has always loved a good _satoori_. “So, uh, I seem to have left my number at home. Can I have yours?”

Thankfully, Jinyoung’s laugh was lost in the sound of the screech of desks. Professor Park was having them rearrange into a circle, because it encouraged communication and removed physical implications of hierarchy. Really, it just meant a lot of yelps as desks were dragged over feet and into hips, and the ensuing ‘sorry!’s. A freshman accidentally bumped into Jackson with his chair, raising his hands in apology when Jackson looked over.

“Why don’t you ask Yugyeom for help?” Jinyoung asked, eyes bright.

“Who?” Jackson asked, getting up to turn his desk around and maybe maneuvering it next to Jinyoung’s a bit closer than strictly necessary.

“Huh?” Yugyeom asked at the same time. It was dog whistle Chris Brown freshman, the kid who’d just knocked into Jackson with his desk.

“Yugyeom,” Jinyoung said in a sing-song, dodging the lunge Jackson made for his arm. “Jackson here was just wondering if he could have your number.”

“I was _not_ — ” Jackson began indignantly.

“Hyung,” Yugyeom said, a little shrilly. “Ugh.”

Despite himself, Jackson was offended. “Hey! What do you mean, _ugh_?”

Yugyeom looked at him askance. “This is hazing,” he said, scooting his desk away from the two of them. “And I don’t give out my number to strange older men.”

Jinyoung was literally wheezing with laughter when Jackson turned back to him. “I’ve raised him well,” Jinyoung said, hand fluttering against his chest, that drama queen. “I’m the community manager for his dorm,” he explained. “We just had the stranger danger workshop last week.”

“You’re mean,” Jackson decided. “And that kid is going to grow up weird.”

Yugyeom, to his left, made a soft noise of protest, inching his desk even further away.

Professor Park cleared his throat. When Jackson looked up, he was, again, looking at him.

 _It’s not my fault_ , Jackson mouthed. _I’m innocent_.

“You’re forgiven, Jackson,” Professor Park said out loud, voice flat. “Now, can everyone think of some reasons why we might be sitting in a circle?”

He started writing the reasons people called out down on a big notepad he’d set up. It wasn’t totally uninteresting stuff, and Jackson, despite all his grousing, had actually done the reading. He uncapped his pen, before remembering how he’d gotten here in the first place: no notebook. He looked down in his backpack, wondering if there was enough room on the back of a pack of gum for his notes.

Sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Jinyoung’s hand, sliding two sheets of carefully-torn notebook paper onto Jackson’s desk.

Grateful, Jackson tapped the back of Jinyoung’s wrist as it retreated, and then bent over the paper. There was something in the corner, a careful box drawn around it, Jinyoung’s handwriting inside unmistakeable.

010-4787-XXXX ♡

 

**WEEK 3: BASIC TOOLS FOR MEDIATION**

> _so why are u in this class anyway? aren’t u a comm major?_

> _... Are you texting me from in front of me? You realize you could just talk to me?_

> _ugh no i can’t prof park is gonna lose his shit_  
he gave me a “talk” last week  
he hates me he’s so mean :(  
anyway can u answer the question

> _I can literally see everything you’re typing before you send it._  
I was just a lit major and then added the comm major last year. Couldn’t avoid this any longer.  
What are you doing here? Aren’t you IR?

> _oh yeah i forgot ur a nerd lol_  
long story, 2 lazy to text. tell u l8r  
what are u doing this weekend?

> _Is that your line?_  
Actually, it’s my birthday this weekend.  
You’re invited, by the way.

> _oh baby_  
u’d KNOW if it was a line  
and oh shit! happy early birthday!  
i’ll be there  
where?

> _Really? You have lines?_  
I’ll text you the address later.  
Do you know Im Jaebum? It’s at his place.

> _um of course i know jb!!!_  
i MADE jb. how do u know jb??  
ok jk he’s fucking my roommate mark  
ok they’re boyfriends or whatever  
and have u seen me? i have so many lines

> _We’re childhood friends, long story.  
And, wait, you’re Mark’s roommate?_

> _hey baby ;) what are u wearing?_

> _STOP  
You can’t come to my party anymore._

> _what!!! nooooo_  
i have the perfect present for u already  
wanna know what it is?

> _If you say “my dick”_

> _MY DICK_

> _I’m reporting you._

> _anyway_  
yeah  
i’ll be there  
u can see my lines in action

 

**WEEK 4: CLASS CANCELED FOR CONFERENCE; SEE EMAIL FOR MORE DETAILS**

Jaebum had one of the nicest grad student units, wide and spacious and with its own en-suite kitchen, so it was doubly offensive whenever Jackson was there because it only reminded him of all the times that he woke up to Jaebum's bare ass reaching into their refrigerator for Jackson's milk. The party was in full-swing by the time Mark and Jackson got there, about an hour after it was supposed to start. They could hear the pound of bass in the elevator from a floor away, and they exchanged looks.

“You never told me you knew Jinyoung,” Jackson said.

Mark sighed noisily. This was an argument they'd had more than once in the last few days, if you could call it an argument. “I told you, Jackson,” he said. “It’s not that I _know_ Jinyoung. Sometimes he and Jaebum hang out when me and Jaebum hang out, is all. They're old friends.”

“Okay, but,” Jackson said. “How old? What _kind_ of friends? Like, sexy friends?”

Mark reached over to palm Jackson's face, and almost brained him with the six-pack in his hand. “Ugh, shut up,” Mark said. “Or else I'm going to tell Jinyoung you like him.”

“Mark! Thanks, buddy. You never offer to be my wingman!”

The door was already ajar when they reached it, the neck of an empty bottle of champagne wedged in the corner keeping it open. It was just as crowded inside as the music they'd heard from outside suggested it would be, and Jackson rubbed his hands against his pants, palms damp, heart rate spiking, finally feeling the effects of the shots he and Mark had taken before coming here. There was something about a crowded, dark room full of people Jackson didn't know and who, therefore, were ripe for the charming, that got Jackson going like very few things did.

They made their way through the groups of people clustered in the living room, nodding their hellos to whomever they managed to recognize through the dim lighting, the blurred limbs of people dancing, and the haze, despite the windows open all along the way. There was a smell of something sweetly artificial in the smoke that made Jackson want to smack his lips and follow his nose to the source, but his fitness instructor had a strict _no smoking, no marijuana, no vapors, nothing in your lungs but the tainted oxygen of this godforsaken city_ rule during the season, so Jackson refrained.

He nodded at Namjoon, who was fiddling with the playlist, drink teetering precariously on the edge. He was a music major Jackson had tutored in English for two days their freshman year before realizing Namjoon, scary smart, probably knew more English than he did. They'd spent the rest of Jackson's stint as a language tutor that semester freestyling over instrumentals they found online, or that Namjoon had made. Jackson had not been asked back after that semester, but he and Namjoon stayed friends, so it wasn't all a bust. After Namjoon, there was Youngji, the first girlfriend he'd ever introduced to his parents, and after Youngji, there was Sanghyuk and Sungjae, who Jackson had been fortuitously matched with for a group project, the only group project he'd ever enjoyed, and after Sanghyuk and Sungjae, there was that kid Yugyeom from their class, eyes closed, hips swinging in a decidedly un-adolescent way in the middle of the dance floor.

There were lots of people he didn't know either — some of them looked familiar, people whose faces Jackson couldn't match to a name, but could match to the general background scenery of his three and change years of college. There was a tug at the back of his shirt, and then Mark's hand smoothing down the middle of Jackson's back. “Easy, tiger,” Mark said, barely suppressing his laugh. “You're practically vibrating.”

They made it to the kitchen in one piece, though not for lack of trying on Jackson's part. It was slightly less hectic in here, or maybe it was just brighter, an assault on a different one of his senses for a change, and Jackson had to blink away the spots in his vision. Jaebum and Jinyoung were standing by the sink with a junior named Youngjae Jackson vaguely recognized as Jaebum's mentee from a year ago when Jaebum and Mark hadn't started dating yet, and Jaebum signed up for the transfer student mentorship program in an attempt to impress. Youngjae was a nice guy, if the wrong kind of stray. Either way, it had all turned out okay. Jaebum got the boy, and Youngjae got someone who would buy him alcohol anytime he wanted out of guilt for neglecting him.

“Hey,” Mark said, his voice going soft in the way it always did when he directed it at Jaebum.

“Hey,” Jaebum said, grinning, hand reaching out to tuck itself in Mark's front pocket.

“Heyyyy,” Jackson drawled, draping his arms around Jinyoung's waist. He pressed his nose to Jinyoung's cheek, feeling him shiver and turn his hips slightly towards Jackson.

“Hey,” Jinyoung said, sounding pleased, and Jackson was struck, again, by the lightning of Jinyoung's smile. It was even better when it was turned onto him.

“Ew,” Youngjae said, screwing his face up as he looked between Jackson-and-Jinyoung and Mark-and-Jaebum. But he was laughing, and he raised his beer can in a salute as he walked backwards out of the kitchen. “Happy birthday, Jinyoungie-hyung. Don't have too much fun tonight.”

With Youngjae gone, and Mark and Jaebum gone, probably to make out in the bathroom and permanently scar anyone with the misfortune of needing to pee, it was just Jackson and Jinyoung in the kitchen, Jinyoung's eyes glassy with alcohol, his breath a little sour, his mouth slick and red. Jackson still had Youngjae's parting words in his head. What was this, a teen movie? He needed more alcohol.

Jackson reached around Jinyoung for the drink he'd been sipping on, almost gagging at the burn. “Are you drinking whiskey _straight_?” he demanded.

Jinyoung ignored this, and turned slightly in the loose circle of Jackson's arms — although, and Jackson noted smugly, he did not turn away. “Was that your line?” he asked, eyelashes lowered, gaze trained unmistakably towards Jackson's mouth. “'Hey'?”

Jackson didn't turn down openings when they were offered so blatantly. “Maybe,” he said, putting down Jinyoung's pretentious drink and crowding closer until Jinyoung's back bumped up against the sink, the soft of his thin black shirt crumpled between Jackson's fingers, Jinyoung's skin hot and even softer beneath that. “Did it work?”

Let the record show that it was Jinyoung who hooked a hand behind Jackson's neck, pulling him in the last few centimeters. It was Jinyoung who slid his free hand up Jackson’s chest, and Jinyoung who copped the feel. Jinyoung, who bit his own lip, then Jackson’s, a sobering nip that made him wince.

“Maybe,” Jinyoung was saying, his grin wild and bright when Jackson looked up. “Happy birthday to me.”

What else was there to say?

Jackson went to Jinyoung's birthday party with Mark. Jackson saw a lot of his friends there, and a lot of people he didn't know, but this was Jinyoung's birthday party, and he was here for Jinyoung, so he dutifully ignored all of them (for the most part) and headed for the kitchen. Luckily, Jinyoung was there, nursing a drink and chatting to Jaebum and Youngjae and looking better than he usually did in the way people always looked better on their birthdays. Jackson had a line prepared and everything — really, he did. Well, it didn’t matter. He didn’t need it, not really.

Words were exchanged. Hands wandered. Asses were groped, both subtly and not-so-subtly. They finished off Jinyoung's straight whiskey, and then took enough shots each that Jackson got impatient, pulled Jinyoung into the darkest corner of Jaebum's apartment and covered the length of his lean body with his, using his weight advantage and lower center of gravity to pin Jinyoung to the wall where he wanted him. To be fair, Jinyoung didn't seem to mind.

Let the record also show that it was Jinyoung who dropped the line, who put his hot mouth right up to Jackson's ear, his hand right up Jackson's shirt, and, biting off a pant, said, “Let's get out of here.”

Well, you heard the man. It was his birthday; he can do what he wants to.

And when Jinyoung rolled out of Jackson's bed the next morning, it was with his hair mussed and his mouth kiss-bitten, curled into a soft, self-satisfied smile as he pulled Jackson's shirt on over his head.

“Hey,” Jinyoung said, bending over Jackson to shake him awake.

“Hope you don't mind that I used your toothbrush,” Jinyoung said, breath cold where it slid across Jackson's cheek to meet his mouth in a kiss when the shaking came to naught.

“I had a lot of fun,” Jinyoung said, shrugging into his hoodie.

“I'll text you,” Jinyoung said, pulling a hand through his hair, smiling and shaking his head wordlessly when Jackson made the universal gesture for _it's too early; come back to bed for sleepy morning sex_.

“Bye, Jackson,” Jinyoung said, Jackson's door swinging shut behind him.

 

**WEEK 5: COMMUNICATION & CONFLICT STYLES**

"Hi, Jackson," Jinyoung said, head tilted. He was in class already, of course he was, even though Jackson had made the effort to drag himself out of bed right when his first alarm went off, instead of thrashing around in his blankets until he could find snooze, by which point all the activity had woken him already anyway.

Jinyoung was smiling, which Jackson took as a good sign, even though it had been almost three days since he'd last seen Jinyoung, and the only reason it wasn’t longer was because Jackson had sucked up any pretense of being cool, opting instead to take the long way to practice, walking by the building Jinyoung had mentioned he TA-ed in. He’d wandered the halls of some random communications building for a good five minutes before chancing upon Jinyoung’s small corner office. Of course, campus was never big unless you were trying to run into someone.

Jackson didn't quite get it — they'd both been drunk at Jinyoung's party, yeah, but Jinyoung had stayed the night, even kissed him good morning. And he’d taken his shirt. That was one point against and one point for, right? So Jackson should be coming out even. But then class had been canceled, which meant Jackson couldn’t play it cool, and didn’t have a casual opportunity to ask Jinyoung what he would be doing that weekend. He’d bullied Jaebum into asking Jinyoung his plans that weekend, then showed up at a party full of comm students, fronting like he’d belonged there. Jinyoung had, thankfully, spotted him from across the bar as he was trying and failing to make friends with a suspicious sophomore, who was clutching his drink to his chest as if Jackson was going to drug it.

“Jackson? What are you doing here?” Jinyoung had asked, raising his voice so it’d carry over the terrible karaoke that was happening in the corner.

“Just, uh, you know,” Jackson shouted back. “I was walking by. And wondered what all the fuss was.” The bar was two blocks from campus, at least seven from Jackson’s apartment.

Thankfully, from the lopsided smile growing on Jinyoung’s face, he was going to let it slide. “Really,” he said, drawl liquid slow, swaying in closer.

Jackson swallowed. When he reached out, Jinyoung’s hand was already there, tangling their fingers together. “Really,” he said, and let Jinyoung buy him a drink, then introduce him to his friends, hand hot and thrillingly possessive on Jackson’s thigh. He let Jinyoung’s friends get him drunk, and then let Jinyoung wheedle him into singing some terrible karaoke song together — or, rather, Jackson sang a terrible karaoke song, because Jinyoung gave up on him halfway to collapse in a fit of giggles, hand over his mouth like he couldn’t even believe how delighted he was.

And then, somewhere along the line, someone must’ve said something — and Jackson sincerely hoped it was him, saying something clever, or at least hot — because Jackson was helping Jinyoung into his jacket, winding his own scarf around Jinyoung’s neck, and walking Jinyoung the seven blocks back to Jackson’s apartment, hand hot and a little damp in his. They made it, somehow. Jinyoung tugged him in for a kiss the minute the elevator doors slid shut, tongue sly and searching in his mouth. Jinyoung pressed the heat of his body along Jackson’s back as Jackson fumbled with his keys, hand-eye coordination totally shot. Jinyoung had kicked off his shoes, headed for Jackson’s kitchen like he belonged there, and poured himself a glass of water from the tap, swishing it around in his mouth.

“Water?” he’d asked, then put his mouth on Jackson’s without even waiting for an answer. It was cold and wet when Jackson swept his tongue inside, a balm for his dry throat. And then Jinyoung was letting Jackson tug him into his bedroom, giggling only when Jackson fumbled for the switch of his bedside lamp. But it was worth it for the view he got of Jinyoung as he pulled off first his own shirt then Jackson’s.

In the end, Jackson hadn’t even gotten his pants off all the way. Jinyoung reached a hand into his sweatpants, laughed when he realized Jackson wasn’t wearing any underwear — what? You don’t _need_ to wear underwear with sweatpants, okay? — and then shoved his pants down. Jackson had just managed to get them to his ankles when Jinyoung was kneeling between his legs, dark head bending to press a kiss to the inside of Jackson’s thigh. His mouth was just as hot and plush around Jackson’s cock as Jackson was not ashamed to admit he’d thought about.

And then he swallowed, throat bobbing, and Jackson let out a groan.

“Jinyoung,” he couldn’t stop saying. “Shit. Jinyoung.”

After, his pillowcase damp with sweat, his legs weak from the orgasm, he finally managed to kick his sweatpants off all the way from where they were still tangled around his ankles. Jinyoung was on his knees now, his jeans thumbed open and shoved down to mid-thigh, a desperate look on his face as he fisted his own cock.

“Can I — ?” he asked, voice hitching.

Jackson caught on, scooting down so his legs splayed further around Jinyoung’s thighs and clenching his stomach, grateful now for all the years of core training. He knew it was an impressive sight. “Go ahead,” he said, a little breathless, and, like he had been waiting for permission, Jinyoung came with a muffled shout all over his abs.

Anyway, the point is, Jinyoung stayed that night, all the way into the morning when, again, he left at a freakishly early hour, smile gentle on his face as he said goodbye. Still, that must count for something, right? Maybe Jinyoung wanted to take it slow. Maybe he was weekend-affectionate, weekday-professional. He seemed like he would be the type. Well, Jackson could play along. He respected boundaries. He was a good guy. And, most importantly, Jackson liked to think of himself as someone deeply in touch with his feelings, and his feelings were currently red hot Team Jinyoung, liking him better than he could remember liking anyone in recent history. It inspired in him a reckless affection that surpassed his usual urge to grandstand for attention and landed, instead, in the closest thing to shyness that Jackson had felt in months.

"Hi, Jinyoung," Jackson said, sliding into the seat behind him. Bambam, who'd been heading for that seat, sighed audibly and dropped into a seat next to Yugyeom instead.

Jackson hesitated, then reached a hand up to thumb at the curve of Jinyoung’s cheekbone. “You should’ve stayed,” he said. “This weekend. Me and Mark and Jaebum got dim sum after you left.”

Behind him, Bambam and Yugyeom were making gagging sounds. Jinyoung, however, looked at him, blush spreading across his face.

“Oh,” he said, sounding shocked and pleased. “I didn’t realize.”

 

**WEEK 6: AUTUMN BREAK**

The look of surprise on Jinyoung’s face when he’d said _I didn’t realize_ stayed with Jackson longer than he’d like to admit. Okay, whatever, he’s not afraid to admit it. It fucking hurt, okay? The way Jinyoung had looked genuinely _surprised_ , as if it was so inconceivable that Jackson would’ve wanted him to stay past 8 in the morning, and would’ve wanted him to get breakfast with him and his friends, who were Jinyoung’s friends, too, anyway. What kind of asshole did Jinyoung take Jackson for?

Luckily, it was Chuseok, which meant Jackson didn’t have to think about it, because he was going home with Jaebum for the long weekend for the second time. To be fair, the first time last year, Jaebum had really only invited Mark, but Jackson had been sitting, like, _right there_. Also, Mark was a good friend, and Jaebum was totally whipped that first year, not that he still wouldn’t jump now if Mark made even the mildest hint of a suggestion.

“I don’t know,” Mark had said, worrying at his lip. “I was going to spend it with Jackson.”

“Oh,” Jaebum said, too quickly. “Yeah. Jackson can come too.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jackson hissed, pumping his fist. Jaebum looked torn, like he was going to take it back, but Mark had brightened, so Jaebum just gritted his teeth and nodded, taking it like a man in love.

Anyway, Jaebum’s parents were totally nice and cool and loved Jackson and told him to come back anytime. Jackson knew so, because sometimes he FaceTimed with Jaebum’s mom when neither Jaebum nor Mark were picking up their phones. As a result of which, Jackson had come to know Jaebum and Mark’s babymaking schedule better than he knew most schedules in his life. The least he deserved for being the keeper of this information was to be invited to Jaebum’s house for Chuseok a second time.

“So, what’s going on with you and Jinyoung?” Jaebum made the mistake of asking. They were en-route to Jaebum’s house, an hour and a half train ride away.

“Don’t — ” Mark started to warn, but it was too late, Jackson had already taken a breath. He sighed, and buried his face in Jaebum’s shoulder. Jackson forgave him, because he’d already heard this story.

Fifteen minutes later, Jackson was finally wrapping up his rant, and Jaebum was looking like he regretted ever engaging Jackson in conversation.

“Anyway,” Jackson said. “You guys are friends, right? What the fuck is his deal?”

For the first time in a long time since Jackson had known him, and that included all the time Jackson had walked in on Jaebum naked and doing untoward things towards Mark’s equally naked body, Jaebum looked genuinely uncomfortable, squinting out the window. He was so tense even Mark noticed.

“Jaebum?” Mark asked, touching his arm.

Jaebum ran a hand through his hair, blowing noisily through his nose. “We used to date,” he said, a little shortly. “For a really long time, in high school.”

“Oh,” Jackson said, surprised. Against his better judgment, his mind went to the idea of Jinyoung and Jaebum together, kissing, or maybe something more. To his surprise, he felt a hot surge of jealousy.

“Yeah,” Jaebum said, a little glumly, stealing a look at Mark, who looked, per his usual, supremely unconcerned. “Anyway, Jinyoung looks like he isn’t, but he’s pretty serious about that kind of stuff. Relationships, I mean. He didn’t talk to me for a year after we broke up. But,” he added quickly, misunderstanding the look on Jackson’s face, “he still, you know, hooks up and stuff.” He gestured vaguely in Jackson’s direction when he said this.

This was not the comfort Jaebum clearly intended it to be.

“‘Hooks up’?” Jackson repeated. “‘And stuff’? What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Jaebum was looking more uncomfortable by the second. “Well,” he said slowly, reluctantly. “I mean. You know. You do have a bit of a reputation.”

 

**WEEK 7: ACKNOWLEDGING TWO POINTS OF VIEW**

“So,” Jackson demanded. “Is that why you’ve never stayed the morning? Because that’s what you think of me?”

Jinyoung looked stricken, but only for a second.

 

**WEEK 8: GROUP PRESENTATIONS**

“Well, you never asked,” Jinyoung said, a little coldly. “And I only knew what I heard.”

Jackson gaped. “ _You_ never asked!” he said, indignantly. “You’re the one who always left in the mornings! And what do you mean, you _heard_?”

“Hard not to hear,” Bambam muttered from behind them.

Jackson whipped his head around to eye him.

Bambam looked alarmed, holding up his hands. “Hey,” he said. “I’m just saying. People talk. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

 

**WEEK 9: GROUP PRESENTATIONS, CONTINUED**

“Look,” Jinyoung whispered furiously. “All I’m saying is — I’d heard about you. I’m friends with Jaebum, right? And a lot of people have liked you, you know? A lot of my friends. And I don’t think it was always entirely possible to tell if you liked them back or not.”

“So you thought I was, what — _loose_? Some kind of _tease_?”

Unfortunately, Jackson had not thought to lower his voice, and Professor Park pinned him with a look.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the class about Yugyeom and Bambam’s presentation, Jackson?” he asked, voice brooking no argument.

“Um, no,” Jackson mumbled. “Sorry, Yugyeom. Bambam.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Yugyeom said, sounding surprised.

“Yeah,” Bambam said. “This is entertaining for us, too.”

 

**WEEK 10: GROUP PRESENTATIONS, FINAL**

“I’m just saying,” Jackson said loudly, smacking the board. His partner, some freshman named Dowoon, winced, looking sadly down at the notes in his hand. “Communication is key. Communication, and saying clearly what you want, or even what you’ve heard! Because rumors are bad. They’re, in fact, very harmful. And hurtful. To, uh, proper conflict resolution. Of all kinds. But especially the interpersonal kind.”

Jinyoung, three rows back and to the left of the room, held a sheaf of papers over his face and slowly slid down in his seat until all that could be seen over the lip of his desk was the dull red of his forehead.

 

**WEEK 11: ARRIVING AT A MUTUALLY SATISFACTORY SOLUTION**

“Hey.”

“Go away, Mark.”

A cough, hiding what sounded like a laugh. “Not Mark.”

Okay, that might’ve been wishful thinking. Mark had poked his head in half an hour ago to ask him if he was sulking, and then laughed at him for sulking. It was probably too much to hope for a change of heart this soon. Jackson tugged his blanket off over his head. It was Jinyoung in his doorway, looking a little sheepish, hand clutched around the strap of his bookbag. Jackson pulled his blanket up over his head again. “Don’t you have class?” he asked, but still scooted over to leave Jinyoung room to sit.

Jinyoung snorted. The bed dipped where he sat down by Jackson’s knee, his backpack dropping with a muted thud against Jackson’s clothes-covered floor. “Don’t _you_ have class? Like, the same class?”

“I’ve been to class all semester,” Jackson said, allowing himself the tiniest hole of his blanket fort out of which to peek. Jinyoung was leaning back on his hands, looking at the lump Jackson made under the blankets. Jinyoung caught him looking, and his face scrunched up in a smile. Jackson quickly pulled the blanket back down. “I’m allowed to skip.”

“Bad day to skip,” Jinyoung said, hand patting over the lump until he found Jackson’s thigh. “Professor Park let us out after half an hour to study for finals.”

“Shit,” Jackson said glumly, staring at the light coming through the fabric of his comforter. “I have bad timing, I guess.” He paused, and then asked, not without a touch of hostility, “So — what are you doing here? Like, in my house?”

It was rude, he knew, even for him, but honestly — fuck Jinyoung. Jackson didn’t spend weeks going out of his way to go to the comm school all the way on the other side of campus for just some casual hookup. Also, what the fuck? Jackson didn’t even really do casual hookups — there had been Youngji for most of freshman and sophomore years, and then there was whatever it was he had with Kangjun last year. If anything, it was Jackson who should be feeling wronged. And he was. Wronged, that is.

Jinyoung’s hand stilled, but then continued its previous trajectory, this time in long, soothing strokes down Jackson’s hip. “I came to see you,” Jinyoung said, voice cajoling. “To see if you would let me treat you to breakfast.”

Despite his resolve, Jackson could feel himself melt, a little. He was a sucker for gestures, and as pissed as he was at Jinyoung, he did still want to see him. That didn’t mean Jackson was above playing hard to get. “Maybe I’m busy.”

Jinyoung sighed, but he sounded amused when he said, “Busy skipping class and sulking?”

“I’m _not_ sulking.”

“Hmm. Looks like sulking to me.”

“Maybe you should look harder.”

At that, Jackson felt the comforter he’d cocooned himself in being pulled off. He looked quickly up into Jinyoung’s face, and then looked away, cheeks burning. Jinyoung was grinning at him again, laugh lighting up his face.

“I am looking,” Jinyoung said softly, as he tossed the blankets in his arms to the side. “And I’m sorry,” Jinyoung continued, crawling up the length of Jackson’s bed to curve himself around Jackson’s body, one hand sliding up his chest to curl around the beat of his heart, the other reaching for Jackson’s free hand. “Give me another chance.”

Jackson stayed silent, shoulders tensed against the steady, warm puffs of air against the back of his neck. He stayed like that for long enough that he felt the hand on his chest falter, begin to pull back, Jinyoung making a small, disappointed sound in the back of his throat.

Jackson flipped around, looking Jinyoung dead in the eye. “Was that your line?” he demanded.

Jinyoung looked surprised, before catching on. A smile spread on his face, which — isn’t that what got Jackson into this mess in the first place, anyway? “Yeah,” Jinyoung breathed, inching closer until their noses were just touching, Jinyoung reaching up to smooth away the furrow in Jackson’s brow. “Did it work?”

Jackson sighed, pushing into the touch. He closed his eyes against the kiss he knew was coming. “Fine,” he said. “Just this once.”


End file.
